


An Unexpected Deduction

by EmberWrites



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Benedict Cumberbatch - Freeform, Detective, Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Fluff, John Watson - Freeform, Mystery, Post-Episode: s02e03 The Reichenbach Fall, Season 2, Sherlock - Freeform, Sherlock Holmes - Freeform, Sherlocked, clue, give this kudos, if you read this, martin freeman - Freeform, pls
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-21
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:27:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,116
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28227627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmberWrites/pseuds/EmberWrites
Summary: Goodbye John.The words had burned in John’s mind ever since Sherlock left him. Mary had convinced him to move in with her as he navigates how get on with his life. Adjusting to normal life after being in Afghanistan was hard enough. This was different though. Sherlock had been his best friend. His new crutch.-Takes place right after the events of The Reichenbach Fall(season two episode three).PLEASE NOTE: the first two blog posts and comments that John Watson enters in the story are taken from the blog website that is canon from the show. (http://www.johnwatsonblog.co.uk/blog) The rest of the blog content from there on out is original. In the blog the two I entered are dated the other way around but I liked the order I put the two of them in better. I tried to keep it very canon and very in character for everyone I hope you enjoy it.
Relationships: I mean I’m doing it from a canon time otherwise I would be doing a much different ship, I’m also respecting Martin freeman who’s had enough of it all, Mary Morstan/John Watson
Comments: 1
Kudos: 2





	An Unexpected Deduction

John Watson’s fingers were floating above the keyboard at a standstill. He was so tense he couldn’t even tremble. 

_Goodbye John._

The words echoed in his head like a sorrowful melody. He imagined Sherlock running into 221b Baker Street and telling him he didn’t need to move out. That John didn’t need to write in his blog Sherlock was gone because he couldn’t be. He just couldn’t be. 

Sherlock was more than some colleague or mate. Sherlock Holmes had shown him the one thing he thought he would never experience after coming home from Afghanistan.  
Life.  
He had shown John how to live again. 

“Do you have all your things ready to go?” Mary asked gently. She put a hand in his shoulder and he seemed to wake out of some trance. 

“Let me write this first. I have to write this... here.” John insisted feeling tears sting his eyes. John typed his blog update. 

**Untitled  
He was my best friend and I’ll always believe in him. **

He clicked update and watched it load onto his blog. He quickly disabled the comments. He couldn’t take any more words about it. About him. He shut his laptop. 

Mary gave an encouraging nod in his direction and 

Mrs. Hudson sniffled in the doorway.  
“It won’t be the same… it just won’t be the same…” she muttered before leaving to her room. 

Sometime later, John Watson sat in a chair as the rain poured down outside the window and thunder rumbled. He looked tired and his face was full of pain. 

Ella, his therapist, adjusted her clipboard, “Why today?”  
John frowned inquiringly. His therapist sat opposite him.  
“D’you want to hear me say it?” John sighed.  
“Eighteen months since our last appointment.”  
John’s voice became quietly angry, “D’you read the papers?”  
“Sometimes.” Ella nodded calmly.  
“Mmm, and you watch telly? You know why I’m here.” There was a pained groan in his voice as he ended the sentence. “I’m here because…” His voice broke down and he couldn’t continue. He looked down, swallowing hard as he fought not to weep. 

Ella leaned forward sympathetically. “What happened, John?”  
John closed his eyes, trying to get control of himself, then he looked up at her again, his eyes were full of loss.  
He cleared his throat and breathed heavily. “Sher…” He became unable to continue and he cleared his throat again, swallowing hard.

“You need to get it out.”  
John nodded slowly, “My best friend... Sherlock Holmes…” He sniffed, forcing his voice through the anguish. “...is dead.” His therapist began talking to him about it all but John didn’t hear a word. 

_I’m a fake._ He remembered Sherlock saying. But he wasn’t. John knew he wasn’t a fake. He just wished he had known Sherlock was struggling so much. Sherlock never opened up to him; he never shared what he was feeling with John. He couldn’t imagine such a lonely life as that. 

“How was it? The therapy?” Mary asked hopefully though she could see from the look on his face it had brought him down. 

“Oh god Mary… Sherlock’s dead. He’s really dead.” Typing the words versus saying it aloud had shook him to his core. John trembled and felt his legs give way beneath him. Mary rushed over and caught him in his arms. She didn’t try to make him feel better but let him cry out his pain in her safety. 

Supper time came. Mary ate at the table, a plate full of food where he was supposed to sit. He avoided the dining room and went to his laptop. He opened the blog ignoring his last post. He began to type. 

**A New Beginning  
It feels odd. Coming back here. This blog. It's taken me about a week to write this. I kept coming back. Deleting bits. Adding bits. The thing is, I'm not an emotional person. I'm emotional, obviously. I have emotions but I don't embrace grief. I guess I'm very British.  
I don't like to talk about it.  
But I've been told that I should talk about it. That if I don't talk about it I'll be how I was pre-Sherlock. And I can't go back to that. I've a life now.  
I understand that he's dead. And I accept it. I still believe in him. In who he was. The truth behind that will come out, I believe that. But Sherlock is dead and that period of my life is behind me.  
And that's what life is. Things happen. Then they're in the past. And you move on to new things. New people. New friends. New beginnings.  
But it's also important not to forget the past. And I've found a few photos and a few blog posts I never finished so over the next few weeks I'll be doing that really. Remembering the past.  
And I won't feel sad about it. Not any more. Because they were good times. We did good and we had fun. And that's what I'm going to remember. My best friend, and he'd kill me for saying that's what he was, is dead. Sherlock Holmes is dead.  
But, by God, he'll never be forgotten. **

John began reading the post over and over and over again. Eventually until comments started appearing. His chest fluttered with anxiety. He began to read them to respond. 

**You're doing the right thing, John.  
E Thompson **

**Yeah. It feels good. Thanks. Typing up the old cases now.  
John Watson **

**Some of us still believe in Sherlock.  
Jacob Sowersby **

**Thanks Jacob. Your video still makes me smile.  
John Watson **

**Come for a drink soon, mate.  
Mike Stamford **

**I'd like a drink if you can spare a minute.  
Mrs Hudson **

**He saved my life. I'll never lose faith in him.  
C Melas **

**Let's go for a drink later. X  
Mary**

**Everyone thinks drink is the answer but it isn't.  
Harry Watson **

**I don't think there is an answer. I've just got to keep going.  
John Watson **

**And you will. X  
Mary **

**Who's Mary?  
Harry Watson **

John ignored the last comment and shut the laptop closed. This time, it felt different. Like it was more than just the laptop he was shutting. He scratched under his nose where he felt the slight roughness of growing facial hair. He hadn’t shaved in so long. 

“Thanks for the uh comments!” John yelled from across the hall.  
“You’re welcome!” She yelled back. “How about those drinks?”  
John went to the dining room and she pulled out some wine and poured it for them. John found himself talking about the strangest things. Not even just talking, rambling. Like his mind was desperate for normal. Anything that didn’t have to do with… him.


End file.
